Public Enemies
by Morgan262
Summary: What would you do with a second chance?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

She looked like a ghost with that pale skin, white nightgown, and large orb like green eyes that seemed to have lost all their color .She'd lost weight. The dull, scratchy nightgown had once fit reasonably well, but now her figure was lost in the excess of flimsy fabric. Most prisoners lost weight due to the food they served in the jail, and it's true that may have been part of the problem. But the thing that made her seem lifeless was not the absence of something, or rather, him. No, he was everywhere. She couldn't forget him, could never stop thinking of him. During the day he was in the shadows, behind all closed doors, around every corner. She was always so close to him, and yet so far. Far worse, at night he haunted her dreams. It was always the same vivid, bloodcurdling one. She would see him walking down the street, and then the gunfire would start. Watching his body being crippled by bullets, and stained by blood never failed to horrify her. Just as the light faded from his dark eyes, she would wake up sobbing.

This was why she was now procrastinating. She knew it was a futile effort to avoid the inevitable, but she couldn't help it. Back turned towards the bed, she stood there, trying to gather her courage. Whirling around suddenly, she stared at the bed as though it was a poisonous reptile. Slowly she crawled under the cheap sheets, and blanket, and laid her head upon the pillow. Ten minutes later she had fallen into a deep sleep. Should she have known what waited her upon waking, she would not have hesitated in going to sleep that night.

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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1.

In prison there was constant movement. Women with wild eyes and sticky fingers, prowled the edges of their cages, making obscene gestures and noises at the guards that circled their cells, fingering their batons, itching to teach these rabid felines their place. Even at night when all should be still and calm, that was when the most disturbing sort of movements happened. Eventually she had learned to tune all of it out, and just drift off into a fog, but during those first weeks, Billie had lain stiff in her cell, eyes wide, body stiff the entire night. During the days at least she could monitor the other women's movements, and anticipate their schemes, but when the lights were turned off and the guards made themselves scarce, she felt so helpless, so lost.

That was why the first thing she noticed when her eyes fluttered open was how still everything was. The young morning sunlight pouring in, millions of particles of dust suspended in the air. Outside her window she could hear the faint rumble of automobiles and pedestrians, an urban stream. The air was warm and smelled of fresh laundry and smoke.

Worn hardwood floors covered by threadbare rugs, white walls and sparse furniture. This was her apartment, she was sitting in the chair next to the radio, the volume turned almost all the way down. She was in her apartment, not a jail cell. She stood, the quilt that had been covering her slipped to the ground, she didn't notice. Her eyes searched the bare little room, she knew she was looking for something, but what as to what exactly, she was clueless.

Her breathing was coming out in short gasps, and she could feel the steady thumping of her heart in every inch of her body. Her fingers found their way into her hair, entangling themselves in her mahogany tresses. Her body was being slammed by continuous tsunamis of emotions. There she stood in the middle of the empty room, an island, as 50 foot waves of sorrow, confusion, and loss rocked her.

Suddenly, she could not longer stay there, in that cheap little apartment. She darted into her bedroom, donned the first dress she could find, and scrambled out the door, desperate to get away.

She ran down the bustling streets, eyes wild, hair blowing about, ignoring the shocked and condescending stares she was earning from passerby's. After awhile she stumbled across a small park, one she was unfamiliar with- and for that she was grateful, here her weary eyes could stop searching. Billie stumbled down the sidewalk for a few moments, catching her breath, before collapsing onto a fading green park bench, and attempted to analyze what she was experience rationally.

She had to have been dreaming, what other option could she consider? Billie knew that things like she had just dreamed about only occurred in crime novels, or on a the screen at the theatre. The very idea of running away with a convict, of risking everything, her freedom, her life, for a man she had known was ridiculous. Besides anyone who had seen Dillinger's smirking face splayed across the front page would not deny he was exceedingly handsome, that he could have any women he wanted, why would he look twice at her? Sure she was a pretty girl, but she was sure that a man like Dillinger would gravitate towards blue eyed, fair haired sirens, like you saw in the movies.

And yet she had never, asleep or awake, felt such a strong connection with someone. With him the there was no difference between knowing 10 minutes or 10 years. His arms had felt like home, she felt as though she needed nothing if she had his love. Even now there was a strange ache in her chest, as she thought about dark eyes that rumbled dark and dangerous like thunder when he was angry, but were as warm and soft as chocolate melting on her tongue when he was telling her that she was his girl.

It was just a dream, just an illusion of my own creation, she told herself stubbornly. Suddenly she remembered something. The last thing she remembered was the radio announcer saying was that Public Enemy number one, John Dillinger, and his band of thieves had robbed yet another bank, but were surely soon to be apprehended.

Relief and disappointment filled her chest. Relief because she had found a logical explanation for all this, and sorrow because somewhere inside her she had wanted to somehow be true. Billie knew she'd only had that wonderful dream because she happened to hear about him on the radio. That was it, she and Dillinger had no connection whatsoever, if he passed her on the street she would not merit a second glance.

Billie sat awhile longer, mourning something she was now sure never existed, before tiredly picking herself up and trudging home.

J&B:J&B:J&B:J&B:J&B

( Two weeks later)

Billie tapped her glossy red fingernails on the counter agitatedly, there wasn't too many folks around. It was a slow night at the Steuben club, and besides it was an unusually warm night in Chicago, nobody needed to drop off or pick up their coat, much to Billie's annoyance. She hated her job, it was terribly boring and repetitive, but it paid the rent, and thats what mattered. Normally, she would rejoice at the opportunity to slack off, but lately she'd had reason to crave distraction.

At first, when she couldn't get him off her mind, she thought nothing of it, it would fade with time she reassured herself. But days passed, and still she couldn't do anything without thinking of him. She hated it, that she felt so strongly about a man that she had never met, and she meant nothing to. How could be so weak, she was like some schoolgirl with a crush on the school's best looking bad boy.

"Hey Billie, are you alright?", Billie looked up to find Agatha, her fellow coat girl looking at her a bit concerned. Billie and Agatha weren't terribly close friends, but Billie thought she was a sweet girl, if a bit simple.

"Yes, I'm alright, thanks" Billie forced a smile.

"Well then, do you mind if I leave a bit early, I mean it's a slow night, and me and couple other girls were going to head to head to the Potter club. You know if you wanted to come too, I'm sure nobody would miss us" Agatha glanced toward the empty coat room.

Billie assured her that she didn't mind her leaving, and that she'd think about going to the club, and Agatha rushed out the door faster that butter melts on a hot stove. So Billie stood behind the counter, bored and longing, thinking about someone she was sure she'd never have.

**AN: So at this point, I'm not sure whether I'm going to stick strictly to the plot of the movie, or branch of in my own direction, but the next chapter will probably include John, if only briefly. I apologize for any mistakes in regards to grammar or spelling, if you would please notify me I, I will try to correct them. All constructive criticism is welcome. Thanks for reading!**


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